


Your Friends Closer

by Anonymous



Series: Up To No Good [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The thing is -The thing is when they started fucking, it was rough because that was how they liked it. Even when Wolffe was in a taunting mood, even when Plo was trying to make a point, whenever they tried for anything less than bites, bruises, and blood they’d end up there anyway. They got along like a house on fire, and now that they’re operating on the shared understanding that they are not, in fact, in eternal hate with each other, they’re like a house on fire on an oil field, and just about as gentle.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: Up To No Good [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863943
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47
Collections: Anonymous





	Your Friends Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exittoyourleft](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=exittoyourleft).



The thing is -

The thing is when they started fucking, it was rough because that was how they _liked_ it. Even when Wolffe was in a taunting mood, even when Plo was trying to make a point, whenever they tried for anything less than bites, bruises, and blood they’d end up there anyway. They got along like a house on fire, and now that they’re operating on the shared understanding that they are not, in fact, in eternal hate with each other, they’re like a house on fire on an oil field, and just about as gentle. 

“Hurry _up_ ,” Plo grouses while Wolffe takes his goddamn time picking out a tie from the closet, probably to tie around his cock. It’s that kind of night. He’s already secured Plo’s limbs to the bedframe, not that he needs the help with his vampiric strength. Plo shifts against his restraints, the rough sheets sliding against his bare skin, and adds a few epithets to his complaints. 

Wolffe is standing over him between one syllable and the next, two fingers jammed between Plo’s teeth. “That’s not very nice,” he chides, and then narrows his eyes. “Bite and you’ll regret it.” 

Plo considers. His lip twitches, and then he takes Wolffe’s fingers deeper into his mouth, extending his neck and lining up his throat invitingly. Wolffe presses down on his tongue and then withdraws. 

“What’s your safe signal?” he asks, running a hand down Plo’s chest, pressing into each space between his ribs. 

“I don’t need a -” Plo grumbles, and then hisses when Wolffe’s claws dig in over his liver. “Three taps, or I’ll drop the ball.” When he’s under, he loses his voice, and he intends to go as far under as Wolffe can push him tonight. “Get _on with it,_ I didn’t come here to talk.” 

Wolffe grins, baring his fangs. He pries Plo’s mouth open wider and stuffs the tie in, inch by inch until Plo’s jaw is aching. “No, little hunter, you didn’t. Be good.” 

“Fuck you,” Plo says. It comes out garbled and unintelligible. Wolffe takes his meaning anyway. 

He starts with a blowjob, taking the tip of Plo’s cock into his mouth, suckling at the tip until he hardens, just grazing his slit with a sharp fang. Plo jerks instinctively, and Wolffe glances up at him in warning. He wraps his hand around Plo’s length, using his spit and the little dribble of precome to glide up and down until Plo is hard, his breathing fast, his cheeks tinged red, staring down at Wolffe in the dim light. He slides off of Plo with a _pop_ and reaches over to the nightstand, opening the drawer. Where most people might keep lube, he pulls out the pair of sunglasses he’d stolen from Plo that first night, dangling them in front of Plo, who makes a sound of outrage right before he loses his vision as Wolffe slides them onto his face. 

“Have fun,” Wolffe taunts, retrieving the lube as well. Plo tries to knee him in the side. He doesn’t get very far, and Wolffe laughs. He slicks himself up, studying his lover in the dark, spread-eagled and frustrated. He makes a very pretty picture. 

Part of what makes them fit so well together is that Plo is just a tiny bit into pain, especially when he knows it pleases his partner to see him squirm. He takes his time pushing into Plo, indulging in the tremors that wrack Plo’s belly, the hoarse moaning that escapes him as he’s forced open inch by inch. By the time Wolffe is fully seated in him, he’s panting, his head turned to the side, exposing his throat and the fluttering pulse under his skin. His hips are raised, his ankles pulling at his ties to create the slack he needs to accommodate Wolffe’s knees under his thighs, and his cock stands at attention, dribbling. 

Wolffe glances at his hands. He’s clinging to the stress ball like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. 

He settles his hands on Plo’s hips, digging into the bones with his fingertips until he knows he’ll leave bruises. “What would I do without you?” he muses. Plo tries to tilt his pelvis for a better angle, a high whine in his throat. “Oh, all right,” Wolffe says, and starts fucking him. He’s tight and hot, just slick enough to move in, shaking and helpless as Wolffe takes his pleasure. He’s been looking forward to this all week, planning out every detail of this event in meticulous detail, and now -

He coats Plo’s insides with his come and pulls out, smearing the dribble of fluid that comes out up Plo’s cock, tracing around the tip with his nail. Plo jerks, rattling the bed, and Wolffe runs a hand over his thigh. “Hush, little hunter. You’ll get yours soon enough. We have all night.”

Plo makes a cross sound and squirms, though he stills when Wolffe kisses the tip of his nose on his way off the bed. He tracks Wolffe across the room by sound, over to the dresser and back, the mattress shifting as he settles between Plo’s legs again, working something blunt and wide into him. He tries to relax into the stretch, breathing into the pressure until whatever it is finally settles into place, so close to being satisfying but not, and then Wolffe moves again, flopping down next to Plo, one arm draped over his chest.

“I’m feeling a little tired tonight,” he says cheerfully. “You wouldn’t mind if I got a little help, would you?” And before Plo has time to wrinkle his brow, the buzzing starts, a steady rumble against his prostate. He jerks again, a shocked breath punched out of him by surprise, and he has to struggle to catch up, a task made all the more difficult by Wolffe’s idle tracings over his torso, toying with his nipple one moment and then leaving sharp punctures along his ribs the next, lapping up the tiny pinpricks of blood that well up. And all the while, the buzzing goes on, keeping him hard and wanting. 

His moaning turns into whimpers and then short, sharp gasping. His throat is so dry. He thinks he might lose his voice, and the thought of it is almost terrifying, but before he can panic the tie unravels from his mouth to be replaced by Wolffe’s fingers again, coated in cool water. That mercy is the thing to break him at last. Wolffe will take care of him. Wolffe will give him what he needs, eventually, if he just waits. He sinks into the lovely constant haze, broken only by the occasional sharp bursts of pain followed by soothing warmth. When Wolffe coaxes his mouth open again he doesn’t resist, sucks lightly at first and then gives in to an intrusion that tastes something like peppermint. 

His head drifts to the side as Wolffe settles next to him again. Hands curl around his skull, thumbs running over his cheekbones, and his guiding star tells him to close his eyes so he does. His glasses slide off his face. The ties come off his limbs, and the world tilts as Wolffe settles him against the headboard. The buzzing shifts in him, going up his bones until he can feel it in his skull. When he opens his eyes again, Wolffe is in front of him.

“You’re doing so well,” Wolffe says, running his claws through Plo’s hair. 

“Please,” Plo mumbles. Wolffe chuckles and wraps a hand around his cock. 

“Go on, then,” he says. 

It only takes a few thrusts into Wolffe’s hand before he’s over the edge, and all the while Wolffe watches him, studies him, keeps their eyes locked together as Plo finally, finally comes, the tension leaving him in pulses. He loses track of the world for a moment, and then he’s possessed by the sudden need to get away from the unrelenting stimulation, flailing with what’s left of his strength until Wolffe catches him, soothes him, makes the buzzing go away, leaving him just pleasantly full. 

Wolffe collects his arms and drapes them over his shoulders, and Plo clings to him as the world tilts again. He finds himself lying on top of Wolffe. He’s still hazy, but he’s comfortable and in these post-orgasmic moments when his higher functions have yet to reassert themselves, he can allow himself to enjoy being held by someone he might almost be willing to admit to being in love with. But as with all things, his pleasant interlude from thought ends and the aches and soreness begin to assert themselves. He rolls himself off and Wolffe lets him go. 

“I knew I should have kept my mouth shut,” he grumbles. “Trust a creature of the night to take advantage.”

“Probably,” says Wolffe. “A hunter like you should know better than to give up that kind of an exploitable weakness.” He turns over for a kiss, which Plo allows him to steal with minimal fuss. His fangs scrape against Plo’s tongue, and he shivers. “You really can’t come without being touched.” 

“Yes, yes, so we’ve established,” says Plo, tossing the stress ball at Wolffe's nose once they pull apart. 

“I can work with that,” says Wolffe, grinning.

“I might even let you try,” says Plo. He’s already a lost cause.


End file.
